


Ocean of Noise

by winterwisdom



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwisdom/pseuds/winterwisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in Asgard Loki finds himself not only locked up in what must be the bleakest cell in all of Asgard but also bereft of his magic. Soon his mind threatens to fall apart and there is only one thought, one golden voice in the chaos of his once brilliant mind that can still save him from insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean of Noise

Sleep has never found Loki easily but ever since he let go of Thor's hand and fell into the darkness between the realms and learnt new, dark forms of magic in dire and foreign places, he hasn't slept at all. Now he can draw his life energy from his magical reserves that hardly ever run low.

In fact the battle in Midgard against this group of puny mortals – and Thor – was the first time he's even had the chance to verify that his magic does have limits. He has been defeated yet not due to any sort of exhaustion, he is merely intelligent and also realistic enough to admit it when the game is over. That doesn't make it a sweeter pill to swallow, however.

Now Loki is in what must be the bleakest cell in all of Asgard and still he has access to his magic. Odin isn't stupid, of course, the prison walls are one of the best magic seals he has ever seen, it even has a slightly absorbing effect – but it is not nearly strong enough.

He cannot say if this happened willingly or if it's merely the best they can do… he is only glad that they haven't taken everything from him.

His magic has always been what made him differ from the others, at least the one of his peculiarities that could be considered useful and pleasant.

Nevertheless he can't deny how bitter he has become. He feels like he has the right to be, however… the bright days of his life were nothing but a sickeningly sweet lie and the rest has just been proven to be a complete and utter failure. He has nothing. Nothing except this magic potential in the depths of his being.

* * *

The cell is dismal and so is Loki. He hates this place where he is left with nothing but his own mind. Often he loses the firm grip on his thoughts and they break free, triggering an avalanche of doubts and sensations he has so carefully hidden behind invisible barriers in his head.

 _This is madness._ He hears Thor's voice saying then – and also other things, some spoken in dispute and others in intimacy.

Perhaps it is.

_Madness._

Perhaps it is the lack of sleep. As a young boy Frigga once told him that sleep brings your mind rest, time to sort things and put them in order. What if you deprived yourself of any sort of rest? Was this madness? Was it?

But the thought of insanity is only one amidst many – some vengeful, some desperate.

He now knows why Odin has left him his magic. No one comes to feed him, so the All-father must know of his abilities.

* * *

He has underestimated the magic dampening effect of the cell's seal… No, he has underestimated the duration of his imprisonment here, until someone would bring him news of his fate. Slowly, slowly he is being robbed of his energy and it's the greatest torment of all. After a week he loses all sense of time and soon he can't even tell night and day apart anymore, in this terrible cell that lets neither sun nor moonlight in.

The feeling is suffocating.

When the door finally opens Loki does not find the strength in him to move an inch. He can't even squint although the light that seeps through hurts his eyes.

"Loki!" A voice calls and for a second Loki does not even recognise it. It's been so long since he has heard anything except his own noises.

_Thor._

Loki feels something rouse in his chest but it's frail and unsettling, so he pushes it aside and remains sitting there, his body unmoving and his face blank. He feels a soft breeze as Thor rushes forward and kneels beside him. He feels the warmth of his body. He smells the familiar scent. He hears the soft voice calling his name.

Yet he cannot respond. Not that he is sure if he even wants to… he merely cannot.

He feels warm fingertips brushing against his cheek. This seems to stir the _something_ within his chest even more and, slowly, Loki manages to look up to his brother with hollow eyes.

_Thor._

There he is, the golden prince of Asgard. Even in this dreary cell he seems to radiate greatness.

"Loki…" Thor says again and there is the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

Immediately the ancient fondness that has been rising in his chest diminishes greatly and the familiar spite and anger that replaces it gives him enough strength to speak.

"Have you come to gloat?" His own voice sounds hoarse and somewhat shrill to his ears. Loki blinks and shifts away from his 'brother' so that the fingertips that are burning against his skin fall down and leave his cheek cold again.

"To gloat?" Thor repeats, his disbelief ridiculously prominent. He has never been very quick-witted.

"Loki, no!" He says insistently and his tone makes Loki want to believe that he is being honest. "I bring good news!" The smile is back in place, even brighter this time. Loki merely stares with dull eyes, waiting for that news and silently preparing himself for the possibility that Thor has only come to mock him after all.

Thor tells him that his life will be spared. He tells him that he "managed to convince Father to reconsider the sentence!" while Loki only manages to fight back the smirk that's curling his lips as Thor prides himself with things he cannot understand.

It's so absurdly obvious that he wants to show off how bravely he fought to save his brother, how much he craves to be praised and thanked.

_Oh, Thor, you always lacked tactfulness. Can't you see that, were I still the sweet, lost prince you believe me to be, it would destroy me to know that my father wanted me dead?_

He watches the thunderer's face as he speaks, his lips moving, his eyes blazing. He watches, his own eyes dull and lifeless, and when Thor notices his lack of enthusiasm his smile turns into a slight frown.

"Loki?" He asks and an odd sensation washes over Loki at the way he says his name. "What's wrong?"

"What is it you want, Thor?" Loki asks quietly, calmly. "Shall I applaud? Or rather kiss the ground you tread on to express my undying gratitude?" He smirks wryly as Thor's eyes widen with disbelief and hurt. "Because I'll do neither. Thor, it appears that you are the only person in the nine realms left to value my life." _And it is follies like this that make it so hard to hate you, you naive fool._

For a moment he merely stares with incredibly blue, uncomprehending eyes, then there's realisation and for a split second a flash of fear. Suddenly Loki feels strong hands grasping his shoulders firmly and Thor's face seems to come closer, mere inches away now. "Loki, listen to me." He says. "You must listen.  
"You will live in your old chambers with all your books, and you will be allowed to move around the palace freely just like you used to – and if you want to leave you can, as long as in my company! Labour was one of the terms I had to agree on to avoid a death sentence, but- the work will mostly be repairing the Bifrost and sharing your secrets about paths to the other realms – you will be allowed to use your magic!" His voice is keen and insistent, his words almost too quick to follow. It's almost endearing how hard he is trying.

" _Allowed to._ " Loki says quietly and gives him a piercing look. "I will be a slave, Thor."

"A prisoner!" The thunderer protests. "Justly so – the crimes you have committed were terrible and must be punished. I thought those conditions were appropriate and would therefore please you…" His voice trails off yet his gaze remains intense.

"The thought of spending the rest of my life imprisoned and toiling as a slave to the man I once considered my father or my so-called brother, for that matter, who is actually supposed to be my equal... No, it does not please me."

Part of him knows Thor deserves better than this. The rest remembers every single time the thunderer has wronged him and the jealousy and the pain.

Loki cannot deny, however, that what he has just heard exceeds his expectations. After so long he wouldn't have been surprised to be left to rot in the dungeons until the end of days. Yet he is not sure if it's a pleasant surprise or not. Sitting in the dark, lonely and fading away, Loki has begun to think of the possibility of a death sentence as as much of a blessing as a curse. The easy way out.

"You will live, Loki." Thor says and his voice is definite and cold all of the sudden.

 _Even you must learn that you don't always find gratitude and admiration when you look for it._ Loki thinks.

"You will be released from this cell tomorrow morning and shown to your chambers." Although Thor is trying his best to sound indifferent there is bitter disappointment and also a tad raw desperation in his voice as he stands up again. Loki can feel stormy blue eyes upon him and silently curses his chest for aching with the wish to turn the frustration into contentment – to apologise - to please Thor, just like he strived for as a young boy. No, those days are over. He is not a pathetic child anymore. He will feed upon the bitter satisfaction of never being satisfied, always unpleasant and always shunned.

He hears how Thor's mouth opens and how he hesitates and tries to think of the right words and how, in the end, nothing but a tired sigh comes out.

He hears him walk to the door but yet again he halts. "Has it ever occurred to you that I wanted to keep you alive for my own sake as much as yours?" Thor is gone before Loki can even begin to comprehend the meaning of those words.

* * *

When the door opens again it is not Thor who rouses him roughly and shoves a golden bracelet onto his wrist. Loki looks up at the guard and is sure he has never seen him before. When the man locks the two ends of the bracelet everything turns grey and then the world begins to swirl around him.  
There are thousands of voices in his head – all of them his own – yelling at him, begging him, laughing, crying, whispering. His body is aching, his head about to explode, a piercing pain in his chest just above his heart, an agonising pressure in his stomach.

 _They have taken your magic._ Someone whispers amidst the ocean of voices, and the word spreads quickly and soon it's all he can think. _They have taken my magic. They have taken everything._

When Loki awakens again he feels velvet cushions beneath him and breathes in the familiar scent of the room, in which he has spent the better part of his youth. His headache is still there but not as overwhelmingly agonising as before. The pain is dull. His stomach feels full and his body seems to have been bathed.

Still, everything is upside down and wrong and contorted and suffocating.

He feels the cold pressure of the thin bracelet around his wrist. _They have taken my magic._ The voices are still there but now that his body is stronger, he has a little control over them again, enough to slowly understand what is happening to him.

He has never realised how dependent he has become on his magic. Apparently his entire body has been working solely on those resources – blocking out the pain and the hunger, protecting him from eventual insanity.

Loki is scared. He is terrified. _They have taken everything._

Now that his magic is gone his entire being is crumbling and falling apart.

Everything hurts. He is lost.

A low, hoarse whimper rumbles through his chest and throat. With his magic everything has vanished. He cannot move, he cannot think, he cannot _hate_ any more. Everything is falling apart.

The room is dark but Loki's mind is a turmoil in which no logical reasoning can prevail; he cannot say what time it is – night or day, it doesn't matter. He does not know how long he lies there, his dull eyes staring into the distance.

Slowly his hand begins to lift, by its own command it seems. The skin is blue and icy. The hand falls back onto the bed limply.

They have taken his magic and stripped him of his every defence.

He is so frightened. So helpless. It seems to be the only sensation able to prevail in the chaos that was once pure brilliance. The voices are so many and their screams so deafening – so loud yet he can't understand the words. Often it's more of an emotion that they convey.

One voice differs from the other - cries out wordlessly and leaves a feeling of longing, of hollowness, of solitude behind. He knows that there is a word to describe this craving.

Again Loki's body moves on its own. He sits up. He turns and places his feet on the ground. Slowly he stands up. He staggers but does not fall.

His feet carry him he knows not where but he is too broken to care. There seems to be a destination, however. Step after step he advances, his head hanging low and bobbing jerkily from side to side. His eyes are too tired to look where he is going. The voices are too loud.

He arrives at a door and out of the corner of his eye he sees his own pale hand lifting to open it. The voice that is calling him rings like a golden bell in his ear and he can almost hear it say the word… the _name_.

Silvery moonlight seeps through the half drawn curtains.

As if his head is attached to a string it lifts – Loki is a puppet. Nothing more.

His vision shifts. A bed.

The voice is yelling now, roaring. With rage or joy he cannot tell.

It is so painfully on the tip of his figurative tongue. One word. One name. One feeling of agonising longing and loneliness.

A step and yet another. The voice has grown so loud, it almost drowns the others out.

His knees bump into something soft.

His eyes are open but yet they must be closed for he cannot see. Then the world is upside down. Then everything is clear for a moment. Loki sees. He knows. He understands. Understands the voice as it begs and rages.

_Thor._

It really is as easy as that.

Loki lies down but his task is not yet complete. The voice that urges him to keep moving is not yet satisfied.

He shifts. Feels warmth. _Yes._

The deafening noise in his head seems more bearable now.

 _Thor,_ it whispers. _Thor,_ it begs. Thor it craves.

Warmth and company, reassurance and comfort, peace and affection he craves.

_Thor._

Loki's arms are still being moved by an invisible force and it drags him on, closer and closer – until his head rests against a warm, firm chest and his arm is wrapped around the source of heat beside him.

 _Thor,_ the voice breathes and after an eternity of noise it falls silent.

Suddenly all the voices seem to withdraw as he hears what must be the sweetest sound in the world. It is steady and rhythmic. So soothing.

It takes over Loki and chases away the vile voices. The pulsing is the only thing he hears now, the only thing he feels, knows and needs.

He is too mesmerised to notice how Thor's heartbeat accelerates as he wakes up.

Soon Loki's own heart beats along with it and he relaxes, drifts off, lulled to sleep by the sweetest of sounds.


End file.
